


Just Another Day

by Maekala



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:20:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maekala/pseuds/Maekala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither John nor Harold has ever really celebrated Christmas, but they make it special between them anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just Another Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Medie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/gifts).



> This turned a little sappier than I originally intended, but I don't think I lost the characters. I also still can't bring myself to write smut between them, so this is a lot tamer than what I've done in other fandoms.

John's eyes wandered back to the monitor where he could see Carter sitting at her desk, her fingers flying across her keyboard as she finished the last of her reports. He'd called her an hour before to make sure that she was actually going to go home tonight to be with her son. Christmas morning was only a few scant hours away and he had promised that he would do his very best to make sure she didn't have to interrupt time with her family to clean up one of his messes. Lionel had left the precinct two hours before to pick up his own son.

“She's still there?” asked Harold as he returned to the library, Bear at his side, calmly waiting for his master to release his leash and feed him.

“She's almost done,” said John. “She's been looking at the clock every few minutes for the last half hour.”

Harold hummed a little under his breath as he passed behind John to get Bear's food. A hand briefly rested on John's shoulder as he passed. John's attention wandered between the screen and Harold's movements, the book on the desk in front of him all but forgotten. Despite being a naturally quiet man, Harold's renewed presence in the library brought noise that drowned out the soft tones of Dutch language internet radio John had been half listening to while Harold walked Bear. He'd taken to the habit shortly after adopting Bear in an effort to revive his own proficiency with the language and hopefully improve Harold's.

Finished with Bear, Harold nudged at John to vacate the chair in front of the monitor. A small smile curled his lips as he kept his seat.

“I will have Bear fight you for it,” said Harold, looking over the rim of his glasses at John, his serious tone belied by the teasing in the words themselves.

Hearing his name, Bear perked up at his bowl and looked between them before returning to his meal when it became clear they weren't going to speak directly to him. John allowed himself a short chuckle as he moved back to his customary seat, grabbing the book as he went. Harold reached out and lifted it long enough to read the title, raising an eyebrow when The Hobbit stared back at him.

John shrugged one shoulder, a sheepish smile on his face. “The movie just came out,” he offered. “I thought I'd compare the two.”

“You don't go to movies,” commented Harold.

“Well maybe I'll start with this one.”

Harold snorted and turned back to the screen where Detective Carter was finally shutting down her computer and packing up her things to go home. She paused when her hand touched on the envelope John had asked Lionel to drop off before he left, a shy smile touching her lips. He and Harold had given her VIP tickets to an event that a local jazz club was hosting next month that included dinner and a concert. John had found out that she and Taylor both enjoyed such events and they'd decided she would appreciate the time she could spend with her son.

They both watched her leave the precinct in comfortable silence, the soft sounds of Dutch the only sound in the room as Bear had settled in his bed.

“Hopefully we'll be able to handle any numbers that may come without their assistance,” noted Harold, looking over to John. “Though it has been quiet the last few days.”

“Violent crime rates tend to go down around the holidays,” said John. “But property crimes go up,” he added, ignoring the rest of the statistic he knew about domestic crime rates going up slightly. The way Harold nodded, John figured he probably knew it anyway.

They lapsed into silence again as Harold began working on something on the computer and John returned to his book. An hour later, he was forty pages further and Harold was shutting down his own system. Bear sat up and tilted his furry head in a silent question and John echoed it.

“I thought we could leave a little early today,” he said.

John raised an eyebrow, not expecting the break in pattern. He had assumed he would have to turn off the monitors around midnight and herd Harold out of the library.

“Okay,” he said, not willing to look a gift horse in the mouth.

They had everything locked up in ten minutes and were headed to John's apartment. They had fallen into an easy pattern over the last few months: when they had finished at the library, the three of them would make their way to John's apartment (always by a different route) where John would make dinner (or breakfast, depending on what time it was) and they would talk about anything but the latest number. One morning, he'd had the pleasure of watching Harold laugh openly as he regaled him with slightly overdramatic retellings of the latest scandal that had hit the Dutch music scene.

It took them half an hour to make their way there now and John allowed himself the small indulgence of walking close to Harold, their hands brushing from time to time. Once inside the apartment, he pulled Harold close enough to share a lingering kiss before Bear whined slightly to be let off the leash. They parted so Harold could take care of Bear while John returned his gun to the cabinet.

They had agreed they wouldn't do anything large for the holiday as neither man had really celebrated it in the last few years. John remembered family gatherings as a young boy, but his years in the army meant he had spent most of his adult years in countries that either celebrated different holidays in December or on missions where Christmas was the last thing on his mind. Harold had been quiet about it, but he had admitted that he'd never celebrated with a large family and even his years with Grace had been quiet affairs.

John felt Harold come up behind him as he chopped vegetables, the shorter man leaning against the counter to watch the rhythmic motions.

“What are you making?”

“Tikka masala,” he said, glancing at Harold with a silent question to confirm that was okay. He knew Harold liked Indian food, but it never hurt to double check.

“Sounds good. Do I have time for a shower?” asked Harold.

“Always.”

He'd learned early that Harold tended to take a shower shortly after he got home so that he could stand under the hot spray and let the heat and pressure ease the tightness that had accumulated in his neck over the course of the day. On bad days, John would take over and watch Harold become putty in his hands. It was an intensely intimate moment and John savoured each and every one.

As he heard the water start in the bathroom, he pulled a small package from a loosened vent and laid it on the table. He hadn't wrapped it, but he had put it in a nice box that one might even call festive. Smiling at the package, he moved back to the stove to put the rice on while the masala finished cooking.

When Harold returned, he was throwing a ball around the room for Bear. Harold looked on with amusement as Bear skidded across the hardwood chasing the small toy. John grinned before tossing the ball behind him. Harold shook his head at the mild showing off before crossing the room to the table. He stopped as he saw the package.

“What's this?”

John shrugged. “I know we didn't talk about it, but I got you a little something.”

Harold allowed himself the barest of smiles before pulling a small box from his pants pocket and handing it to John. They shared a chuckle as Harold sat in front of his package and John carefully inspected the smaller box.

Harold lifted the lid and carefully pulled out the book John had found in an out of the way little shop. It was a Dutch grammar and history of the language that had been published in the late 1970s. It was old, rare and useful: three qualities that John knew Harold appreciated in a book. And despite only needing to know a handful of commands for Bear, Harold had decided he was going to learn to use the language. He was nothing if not thorough.

The smile that appeared on Harold's face was one John didn't see very often. John mentally called it Harold's secret smile, barely there but accompanied by a glint in his eye as he found another piece to some puzzle he was working on.

“It's wonderful,” he said, meeting John's gaze for a moment before his attention returned to the book and he began carefully leafing through the pages. He paused when John turned to his own box and began opening it.

He frowned when he found a key not unlike the one Harold had given him to this place laying atop a small piece of folded paper. A glance at Harold revealed that the man looked slightly nervous. Unfolding the paper revealed an address in midtown.

“What's this?” he asked, confused. Harold had already given him this place and there was no reason to move. Harold paused and John realised he was nervous. Actually, nervous. “Harold?” he asked, reaching a hand out to lay it on Harold's.

“It's where I'm living right now,” he said, his voice soft and unsure. His eyes and turned back to the book, but weren't seeing the words on the page. “After everything that's happened,” he started and tilted his head, thinking. “After everything we've been through,” he finally looked back up to meet John's gaze. “I wanted you to know.”

John knew he was probably grinning like a loon, but he honestly didn't care. It was just the two of them anyway.

“This means a lot, Harold.”

They shared a shy smile between them, broken when Harold turned toward the stove and declared dinner smelled good. When John stood, he took the chance to lean down and kiss Harold, one hand lingering on the man's shoulder, once again covered in his three piece suit.

It wasn't the key to Harold's past, he knew. John had every faith that he would still have to work at finding tiny hints. But it was the man he was now and that was really the only thing John wanted. It was all he had ever wanted.


End file.
